


kneel at your shrine (let me give you my life)

by Misaki_kaito



Category: Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: Courtship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Purple Prose, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misaki_kaito/pseuds/Misaki_kaito
Summary: The Huntress, the Bard and the Hunter; what a tangled web they weave.





	kneel at your shrine (let me give you my life)

She found no pleasure in the tedious, day to day workings of Serault, for all that she was raised to handle them; she preferred the woods, the thrill of the chase, the strung-tight patience of the hunt.

Anything but paperwork.

Hands landed on her shoulders, kneading intimately as the Bard leaned over to take a look at the papers on her desk. “Dear Huntress,” the Bard says lowly, his voice husky and inviting, “You've been working far too hard lately.” Her shoulders relaxed minutely under his ministrations, and she arched up like a cat under his hands.

There was a shuffling at her door, and her eyes flickered to the door leading to her chambers; she could barely see the shadow pace in front of her door, prowling and alert for danger. As the Bard drew her back to her bed, she caught a last glimpse of the light beneath her door before she was thoroughly distracted with kisses and more.

It was the Hunter, no doubt about it; she won his services over the course of two hunts, offering the trophy to him at the end both times. She’d hunted for the joy of it, for the relief; she had no true need for the trophies, and the Hunter would be sure to appreciate them. She’d asked him on a whim, when he’d set to skin the bereskarn they’d brought down, if he’d protect her, and in doing so, protect Serault.

He’d paused, and looked at her, shock writ stark upon his face. He’d turned back to the trophy-- _his_ trophy, and she couldn’t help but think she’d made a mistake.

Then he spoke. She was lost in the sound of his voice for but a moment, the cadence bewitching, his voice low and sweet like dark honey. “When I left Val Royeaux I swore I would no longer be someone else's Shadow. But I will be yours, and Serault's." One of his hands went to her wrist, grasping it lightly as he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

She stood frozen in shock for a moment before she recovered her composure and accepted his blade and protection. The Hunter was true to his word; she was never without him in her shadow, never without his watchful gaze upon her and those around her.

His presence and protection was something she learned to luxuriate in; few would dare to attack her with a guard such as he. But her enemies grew too bold, and even his presence would not deter them for long.

His gaze was upon her as the Wayward Bard took a knife to the shoulder in defense of her. He was there as she dragged the Bard to her rooms (where she and the Bard had tumbled into bed together, flush from her victorious dance of the _touridon_ and too much Amaranthine Red). He helped her tend to the Bard’s wounds, but when they had sent him to sleep in the Huntress’s own bed, the Silent Hunter knelt at her feet and spoke.

“ _Command me._ ” Two words that held deeper meaning than she could see, but the weight of his voice was enough to spur her to action.

There were equal parts of fear and fury in her voice as she commanded him away from her side for the first time. She sent him to hunt those that would cause her and those she would claim harm, but the lack of his presence cut her like the knife that spilled her Bard’s blood. Still, rumors reached her of a terror upon her foes, a shadow who could not be escaped—and she knew he was watching over her still.

The days when the Hunter was gone felt like an eternity, and yet—

One day, he returned. He had come out of nowhere, his vigil resumed and his presence by her side restored, but there was a change to his demeanor. There was an almost vicious air about him, and later that evening he came to her in her chambers, a folded paper in his hand. He knelt as he handed it to her, his rainwater eyes full of dark pride and satisfaction.

He gave her the names of her enemies, and the secrets to bring them to heel. He awaited her verdict patiently, as her gaze traced the wealth of information he’d given her.

She’d dismissed him then, and she’d regretted it since; she recognized the warmth in his gaze, but his sense of duty wouldn’t permit him the liberty to act upon his desires. Her gold was a pittance in comparison to the security he’d brought to her nights and days.

Even her Bard agreed.

“Now, I’ve been watching our dear Shadow,” The Bard began, “And he’s as dutiful as ever in his protection of you and of Serault; but _Maker_ , his eyes do wander.” He finished his glass of wine, and refilled it with a flourish; the flush on his cheeks belied how much he’d imbibed, but his eyes were keen and watchful.

The Huntress sighed, and turned towards him. He was as handsome as ever, her Wayward Bard, but even she could see the circles under his eyes.

Her chase to recover him from the Lord of the Forest was nothing short of extraordinary, but she would never had succeeded had it not been for the Silent Hunter. His surety in the woods matched her daring, and together, they were able to rescue the Bard. But her Bard did not escape unscathed, and neither had she- the tales he has spun the Court were carefully crafted to make the Woods enchanting and mystifying, but he excluded the horrors of the Green Lord’s Court from her people.

His eyes were haunted, and she hated that it was allowed to happen.

She had other matters to attend to, unfortunately; she could not focus her attention on the Bard, and neither could he focus on his own hurts from the Green Lord’s Court. They had to seem strong to stay that way, especially as the day the Divine arrived encroached closer, and closer.

They’d discovered the Shame’s secret, and preparations had to be made for her arrival at the chateau; they had to prepare for the Divine’s arrival, with secrets and connections and luxuries that would outshine anything in Val Royeaux.

And then the Divine finally came, her entourage vast and her people keen-eyed behind their masks.

But the Huntress was ready; the Dowager had coached her well in the arts of speechcraft, and the Bard wove tales of her land’s prosperity that were all too easily spread by the commonfolk. The Silent Hunter had brought her the secrets she needed to prove her own web was well-intact, and her acquaintance with the Pig-Farmer opened her eyes to her Court’s machinations.

The one problem was the Sealed Chantry, that had been opened by herself and the Bard, but the Huntress had been more than ready, the Bard’s clever words prepared on her tongue.

A silver lie and the matter had been settled; the exchange of goods and the Divine’s approval bought. Secrets whispered into her ear, and her attention garnered; finally, at the end, the Shame was lifted from Serault.

The Huntress humbled herself before Divine Justinia as the Shining Mask was returned; proof of her legacy restored, and redemption in the eyes of the Court.

Then the feast was over; the Divine gone with all her courtiers, and Serault returned to the peace it enjoyed. The Huntress’s rulership of her domain was reborn from the ashes of the Shame, and now, she would gladly pay her debts.

She retired early that evening, the night the Divine left; the Bard on her arm and the Hunter at her heels. She bade the Bard enter her chambers before her, and stood before the Hunter, the glass antlers of her mask gleaming softly in candlelight.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, and she shivered as a nameless _something_ passed through her. She watched him for a moment; this man, who’d hunted down her enemies, who’d guarded her every step, who’d retaken a mantle he’d sworn to forsake for her—this man deserved nothing less than the very best of what she could give him.

And as she stepped forward, she was finally able to ask.

Her eyes like fire met his of rain, and the Huntress put a hand under his chin, guiding him up and closer.

She could see the confusion in his gaze as she bade him stand- but his eyes widened in surprise as she pressed a kiss to his lips. Over his shoulder, she met the eyes of the Bard- at the door of her chamber, dressed in only a pair of trousers and a silk robe- and the heat in _his_ eyes was unmistakable.

She broke the kiss gently, gratified to see the Hunter sway slightly towards her as she stepped back. “You have served Us well, Hunter,” She said, stepping around him as she made her way to her rooms, “Will you accept this reward, and join us?” She paused at the door, where her Bard stood, and draped an arm over his uninjured shoulder, looking back to the Hunter, gauging his response.

The Hunter’s gaze turned quickly between her and the Bard, before finally settling on the Bard, an intensity in his expression. “Is this what you want?” He said lowly, his voice a little rough with disuse. Her own eyes turned in time to catch the surprise on her Bard’s face before it smoothed into a coy, flirtatious look.

“This will not be the first time I’ve had more than one person share my bed,” The Bard said as he moved forward, and circled the Hunter, “You are much like our Huntress, and I see what she sees in you.” The Bard traces his fingers over the Hunter’s shoulders, and down to his hands, bare from gauntlets and gloves. “And I do so love to please my Lady.” In one quick move, the Bard pulled the Hunter into a kiss, grasping at the Hunter’s armor and pulling him towards the rooms.

The Hunter stumbles, uncharacteristically clumsy, but the Huntress supposed she could understand why; the Bard was, after all, _very_ good with his mouth.

She turned away as she relinquished her shining mask- the Shame of Serault lifted by the Divine, and she had little need to fear anything anymore. Anything but this. She drew in a shaky breath as she turned back to the men behind her; their masks, physical and metaphorical, had been gone long ago. The Hunter’s when she’d taken his service, and the Bard’s when she’d saved him from the Lord of the Forest.

The mask settled with a light chime upon the table, and they turned and welcomed her with outstretched hands.

“Come, my lady,” the Bard purrs as he reels her in. The Hunter looms before him, half undressed, two spots of color high on his cheeks as he lays a hand upon her waist. The Bard deftly plucks away her garments, and the Hunter presses his forehead to hers’. In a quiet, but heartfelt voice he says,

“We live to serve.”


End file.
